


Sometimes I wish we never built this palace

by hopeinyourheart



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, Hand Jobs, M/M, Panic Attacks, Rough Kissing, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-24
Updated: 2018-06-24
Packaged: 2019-05-26 15:29:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15003869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hopeinyourheart/pseuds/hopeinyourheart
Summary: When Emre says he's leaving, the centre of Loris' world shifts.





	Sometimes I wish we never built this palace

**Author's Note:**

> Theres a description of a panic attack so don’t read it if that’s a problem for you,

When Emre says he's leaving, the centre of Loris' world shifts to the left. He feels dizzy while he clears the table of their dinner. No words leave his mouth as he washes up, drying the silverware and placing the plates in the cupboard. 

Emre sits at the table staring at the raindrops sliding down the glass. 

When Loris finishes he pulls Emre up from the table and towards the stairs. They don’t walk hand in hand to the bedroom but when they enter, Loris says 'fuck me' already stripping down. Emre lifts him onto the dresser and gives him everything he wants. 

After, they climb into bed and Loris stares at the ceiling, white and plain, no patterns to trace which is maddening. Emre lies next to him, warm skin and slow breath. Loris looks over at him, fingers itching to reach out but he digs his nails into the skin of his forearm instead, deep enough to tear, to hurt, to scar. 

The ceiling is boring, his only friend in a cruel world, and soon he turns onto his side, not facing Emre. Not now. Staring at the wall was practise. For seeing empty space.

It isn't pretty. 

In the morning he turns over, looks at a face with an angled jawline, and sharp cheekbones. Bright pink lips and dark eyes that he wants to forget. He swings a leg over Emre's hips, bites at his lips too hard to be playful, as Emre grunts. When Loris pulls back there's blood on his lips and he smiles painfully. Emre grabs him by the back of his head, pulling too hard at his hair, back to his lips and kissing him, tongue scraping along the top of his mouth, teeth pulling at his lips. When they separate there's a line of blood connecting their lips, Loris moves away breaking it, biting all the way down Emre's neck, teeth breaking skin. 

Emre lifts them up, smashes Loris down against the sheets, and drags his teeth over the line of Loris throat, bites his collarbone and sucks a nipple between his teeth, which leaves Loris a thriving mess on the bed. "Shit," he pants, pleasure coursing through his spine as his hands wring into the sheets. Emre lets go, smirking. 

Loris pushes him away harshly. "Get off me," Loris says pushing his hands into Emre's chest

"What the fuck," Emre says grabbing him around the waist as he moves to get off the bed

"I said get off me!" Loris shouts, shaking his hands off. He storms out of the bedroom and down the stairs straight into the kitchen. He puts the kettle on, hands shaking slightly. 

"Hey," Emre says, voice quiet and unsure, "did I do something wrong?" 

Loris doesn’t say anything as he makes his coffee, before he turns around and sees Emre up on the counter, legs spread and hands resting on either side of his knees. He has his head down, swinging his legs nervously. He wants to step between them like so many times before, put his hands on his thighs and pull him down for a kiss. Emre lifts his head, sad doe eyes staring right at him. Loris takes a sip of his too hot coffee, liquid burning his tongue and throat as he swallows.

He shakes his head slowly at Emre. 

It feels like a lie. 

He walks away with the mug burning his hands. 

He cant feel it. 

He heads back to the bedroom. Emre doesn’t follow him this time. 

He gets showered and dressed. Heads to work, wraps his hands, while Adam tells him a story he can't hear but he nods his head and quirks his lips. Maybe he's forgotten how to smile. 

Training is dull repetition of catching the ball, not seeing much else. He hears Simon yell things at him but doesn’t take any of it in. His feet work on auto pilot, his motions one of instinct. 

Returning home is quiet, the sound when he drops his keys into the bowl resonates throughout the entire apartment. It makes his head ache. 

He eats alone. 

The silence drives him insane. 

Emre walks in at thirty minutes past ten. Loris is still on the couch, but he hears the click of the door over the dull droning of the tv, hears Emre's footsteps through the hallway, listens to the click of the kitchen light being switched on before the tap opens. Hears the footsteps getting closer and a small thud from the doorway. 

"Loris," Emre calls. 

Loris doesn’t respond, "Loris," he calls again, voice no higher than a whisper. "I was at Dejan's," he provides, "I thought I'd give you some space. I......I thought you needed some." 

Loris' eyes stay on the tv, "you coming to bed?" When Loris doesn’t reply, he sighs and walks back down the hall and up the stairs. Loris sits on the couch for another couple hours, not seeing, not thinking, not feeling. 

He sleeps in the guest room. The ceiling has patterns which he traces with his eyes tirelessly till the early hours of the morning. 

The sheets are cold.

The walls are plain. 

There's no dresser in here.

In the morning Emre's already in the kitchen. He's shirtless, and the waistline of his pants is riding low on his hips revealing the jut of his hipbones while his hair lays flat against his head. Soft and product free. Emre hands him a cup of coffee which Loris takes avoiding touching his fingers as much as possible. Emre leans back against the counter and Loris wants to dig his fingertips into the skin of hips, watch the skin bruise in the shape of his imprints, wants to see the beauty of marked skin.

Instead he drinks his coffee leaning against the opposite counter. It doesn’t warm him up, he cant feel the burn or taste the flavour but he drinks coffee every day. It was routine, all he knows. If he stopped he had nothing to hold onto. Emre moves away from the counter, after placing his mug in the sink beside him before he walks forward into Loris' space. Loris doesn’t look at him, doesn’t even breathe when Emre pulls the cup out of his hands and puts it to a side. Loris focuses on the tile of the floor, runs his eyes over the cracks; for some reason they feel familiar. 

"You not gonna look at me?" Emre asks leaning into him. He puts his hands on either side of Loris on the counter, "Lori," he breathes. Emre's heat radiates through him and he wants to touch, to reach out, it's all right there but he crosses his arms over his chest, nails digging into his ribs. Emre hooks a finger under his chin, lifting his head up and leaning his forehead against his own bringing his hands up around the nape of Loris' neck, "I love you," he says.

Loris wants to rip his own skin to shreds. 

His nails dig deeper into his ribs, wishing he could feel the pain. When he does look up, Emre has his eyes closed and his eyelashes are fanned over his cheeks. He's the most beautiful person Loris has ever seen. "I know," he whispers back. Emre opens his eyes, shining and full, as he leans forward and kisses Loris on the lips. Loris doesn’t push back or open his mouth but he savours it before he turns his head to the side, Emre's nose bumping into his cheek.

Lips press against the jut of his cheekbone trailing over towards his ear and pulling on the lobe before trailing down his neck, leaving kisses and sucking into the base of his throat . Loris still hasn’t moved his hands even though he's getting hard as Emre works his way down his body, kissing and sucking until he ends up on his knees. Looking down, he lets out a breath at the sight. His hands move on their own accord, one ending up on the side of Emre's face, cupping his cheek, thumb stroking over his cheekbone. 

Emre's eyes dart up and he smiles reaching forward to pull his pants down. Loris slides down the counter at that point, spreading his legs on either side of Emre and smacks his head back against the drawers looking up and letting out a shaky breath. 'What are you-' Emre starts. 'Why do keep pushing me away?' He asks small and vulnerable.

"Loris," he says, "look at me." Loris doesn’t move his eyes from the ceiling. "Fucking look at me,” Emre says louder reaching forward to tilt Loris' head down, thumb digging into his cheekbone as he pushes his fingers behind Loris' head. When he doesn’t succeed he sits back on the tile in between Loris' legs, hands on Loris' thighs. "Loris what's wrong?" he asks in a breath.

"Ceiling has no patterns," Loris says dry, still not looking down. 

"What?"

"It's boring we should have got an apartment with patterned ceilings." 

"What are you- why?" He asks confused. 

"Something to trace, make images out of. Do you ever do that? Make pictures out of the patterns like with clouds. Used to do it a lot when I was kid."

"We don’t- Loris-" 

"The spare room has patterns," Loris tells him.

"Ok," Emre says struggling to understand what he was saying. 

"I stayed up all night tracing them, it's better than our room, plain ceilings drive me crazy."

"Why are you tracing- why didn’t you sleep with-,"  _me_ _, "_ why didn’t you sleep?" Emre asks fingers playing with a thread on Loris' pants. 

"Couldn’t," Loris says. It’s the most he's said in two days.  

"Why won't you look at me?" Emre asks, voice breaking. Its small and hurt and it pulls Loris' heart back to the centre. It rips something as it moves and it’s the first thing he's felt since the conversation at the dinner table. 

He tilts his head back down and looks at Emre who's fiddling with a piece of thread. The heat of his hand sinks through the cotton where Emre has his palms pressed down on his thighs as he messes with the thread in his fingertips. 

"Why are you leaving me," he whispers back, voice cracking on the words. Emre's eyes dart up immediately and he looks broken. A tear slides down his face which he wipes away with the back of his hand. 

Gone the second it appeared.

When he speaks his voice is shaky, "I-Loris I'm not-," he finds it hard to get the words out, "Lor-' his voice breaks as tears slip down his cheeks and his hands tighten around Loris' thighs. 

The thread is forgotten.

Loris shifts against the counter, sitting up straighter against it and reaching out to pull Emre forward by the back of his neck. He smashes his mouth against Emre's, shoves his tongue into Emre's mouth, nipping at his teeth as he kisses him.

Its biting and needy and one of them breaks skin turning the kiss metallic, moaning desperately into the others mouth and Loris finds himself moving up on his knees never breaking contact. Hands scratch down his back, leaving trail marks and shove down the back of his pants before reaching for the waistline and pulling them down. He breaks away for breath and shoves Emre's shorts down. Emre pulls him closer to his body and Loris smashes their lips together again as Emre curls a hand around their cocks, stroking too fast. Its dry and it hurts even when Emre spits into his palm and bites at his bottom lip, splitting the skin and sucking harshly. They pant heavily as Emre strokes down and over the top. It makes Loris dizzy with want as his hands clutch at Emre's back breaking the skin of his shoulder, teeth moving his bite at his collarbone. 

Emre strokes once more, swiping a thumb over the head before Loris pants and bites down on Emre's shoulder. Emre moves his head back to his lips, kisses him again as he pulls at the strands of his hair. 

When they finish, they press their lips together lightly. 

It stings.

Emre grabs a tea towel and wipes them clean. Loris pulls his pants back up and sits back against the counter with a heaving chest. 

"I'm not leaving you."  The metallic coats Loris' mouth. Chokes him. He sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, tracing the slits with his tongue. If he digs hard enough it stings enough to drown out the words until it makes him dizzy and he has to let go. He swipes his fingers over his lips trying to soothe the ache.

It doesn’t work. Instead it stings more.

Emre slumps onto the tile, "did you even think about me?," Loris asks, insecure and hurt.

"Yeah," he admits, "Loris you're-" 

"Shut up," Loris snaps, biting his lips so hard, letting the pain make him dizzy again. Every time Emre speaks his gut twists and Loris doesn’t think he can handle his words. Hear the truth. Can't hear Emre tell him things that will mend his heart and rip his stomach through his skin at the same time. 

"When are you going?" he asks pulling at the skin of his lips. It was painful but somehow it hurt less than every other nerve ending in his body.

"June, after-when they.......when I sig-," Emre stutters, choking on the words.  _Good._ Loris hopes it hurts. Hopes its all he feels. Hopes this tear's him apart and keeps him awake at night. Choking on nothing but pain and the blood from Loris lips. Hopes the copper is all he can taste no matter what he swallows.

"Why?" he asks running a hand through his hair, pulling too hard. 

"What?"

"Why are you leaving, you love this place, you love-,"  _me_ _, "_ they love you, you’ve captained, are they going to love you," he asks accusing and angry. 

"I don’t know"

"Then why are yo-"

"I need this," Emre says. 

"Will they let you play or are you going to rot on a bench," Loris asks, "you're too good to rot on a bench, are you guaranteed playing time. If you don’t play you won't make the national team and we all know how much you want that. I mean are you even going to get in ahead of all the others-," he lists off too fast barely breathing as he spits out the words.

Emre's kisses him again painful and hot and when he pulls away Loris' lips throb. "I love you," Emre tells him.

And that was the problem wasn’t it. Emre loved him. He loved Emre. It felt like his heart was shattering. His chest heaves as he tries to take in a breath. His ribs constrict and his lungs feel tight and there isn't enough oxygen as he breathes heavily; breaths short and harsh. Emre pulls him against his chest and runs a palm down his spine trying to soothe him. "shhhh breathe," he says in Loris hair, "you're ok" he tells him. 

Loris feels the furthest thing from ok as he pants for breath against Emre's chest. He slides his hands onto the nape of Emre's neck. Emre's fingers draw patterns over his back as he whispers to him, "you're ok," over and over again. Emre shifts slightly, crossing his legs underneath him and pulling Loris into his lap still stroking his back, while he runs his fingers through his hair with his other hand. His breathing steadies as he focuses on Emre's fingers and the motions, lets it soothe him as he digs his face into Emre's neck. 

The tears fall silently into Emre's skin. Fall down his neck and his chest but he pulls Loris closer as he sobs quietly into his skin, letting out the ache and trying not to think about how this couldn’t be his. How he couldn’t have this skin under his hands every day. His chest constricts again as more tears fall from his eyes. 

They sit like that for a long while. Until the tears stop flowing and the breaths come easier. Until the change of day brings rain pelting against the window causing a draft through the kitchen. Loris shudders as goose bumps raise on his skin. Emre runs a hand over his arm and brushes his lips against the top of his head before he lifts them from the floor, muscles cramping a little from being in the same position. 

Loris is still clinging to him, head under his chin and his arms around his waist as they walk into the living room where Emre flings a blanket over the both of them. He puts the tv on but Loris keeps his face in his neck, its safe and warm and his.

If he moves he might lose this. 

Its getting hard to breathe through the pain.

Emre doesn’t move his fingers from his skin and its grounding. Gives Loris something to focus on other than the agony coursing through his nerves, making his throat burn and his eyes ache and his fingers shake as he tries to cling on.  

"Would you ask me not to go," Emre says into the space. 

When Loris speaks the words are scratchy and raw and they hurt his throat when they leave his mouth. They make the metallic taste sweet, "I'll never do that," he says shaking. His gut wrenches in agony.  He doesn’t know if he's ever going to be able to breathe properly. 

"I know," Emre breathes. "I'd do anything for you."  

And Loris knows he would. Knows he wouldn’t go. Knows he would stay even when he didn’t want to. Knows that if Loris asked him, begged him not to leave he wouldn’t because he always gave Loris everything he wanted. But Loris doesn’t ask him for things that will hurt them both. Because he loves him, because he values him, because Emre was important. Because somewhere along the line their dreams mixed together and Loris would give anything to see Emre live his. 

No matter what it took. Or how painful it was.

"I love you too," Loris says pressing his lips against the side of his neck hoping it portrays everything he isn't saying. Emre strokes a hand down his head and lifts the hand Loris has placed on his chest to his lips, placing a light kiss against his fingertips.

Loris wasn’t ok right now but he smiles shakily and tries to breathe steadily. The emptiness and the silence were a distance away that felt too close. 

There's blood in his mouth and under his nails and he's being choked by his own breath. 

The man he loves is leaving. 

Everything falls apart while he watches it, not fast enough to collect the pieces, not quick to put them together, not sharp enough to fix so he watches it as he bleeds and when the door closes behind Emre a couple months later for the last time, he sits on his knees in the hallway staring at the wall as the click of the door resonates throughout the empty space.

He lies on his back and listens to the crack of his heart, places his hands on his stomach so his guts don’t spill all over the floor. 

Looks at the patterned ceiling of the hallway through blurry vision.

This time it drives him mad. He can't see enough to trace anything. 

He digs his nails into his skin and pants through the pain.

The rain pelts against the window echoing through the empty house as the raindrops slide down the glass. 

Emre leaves and the centre of Loris' world shatters.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading


End file.
